


Holding Me Up

by mr-finch (soubriquet)



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Joker (2019)
Genre: AU: oh fuck there's TWO of them, Alternate Universe - High School, First Time Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Homophobic Language, M/M, Neediness, Physical and Verbal Bullying, nasty nasty boys, teenagers also in lust, teenagers in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:42:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23451142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soubriquet/pseuds/mr-finch
Summary: Arthur and Joker can't talk about what they got up to last night. So how about they just go to school and pretend it never happened?.....unless?(Otherwise known as the AU where Arthur Fleck and TDK's Joker grew up together.)
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/Joker (DCU), Joker (DCU)/Joker (DCU)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29
Collections: Anywhere I Lay My Head I Will Call My Home





	Holding Me Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SenkoWakimarin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/gifts).



> Here we are again lol. Mine and SenkoWakimarin's AU where Arthur Fleck and The Dark Knight's Joker meet in highschool and get along very well with each other.
> 
> This fic takes place the night after Joker sleeps over at Arthur's apartment for the first time. Joker's father (Harold) kicks him out of the house for Various Reasons and so he ends up at Arthur's, beat to shit and very sad. Arthur ends up comforting him by getting extremely aroused and they finally do something about this energy/sexual tension that's been building up between them.
> 
> Unsurprisingly, they Cannot talk about this or acknowledge it the next day. Just gotta go to school like normal boys and pretend like nothing's really happened.
> 
> Sean hasn't appeared in the stuff we've put on AO3 yet, but suffice to say he's a bully at their school who has a particular love for targeting Arthur. Arthur and Joker actually first met after Arthur got kicked about in a bathroom by Sean and his gang and Joker walked in on him trying to tidy himself up.
> 
> Obviously, if you would rather not read about teenagers getting horny with each other, now's the time to turn back.

Arthur’s still not sure whether the night before was a dream or not. He wakes up cuddled in Joker’s arms and feels his heart leap from soft drone to rapid animal in about five seconds. His room is always drafty, so there’s none of that sense-smell from the sleepover they had at Joker’s: no mind-blowing heavy scent of cum in the air or Joker’s staunch male arousal.

No, there’s none of that, but there is a slight hint of it beneath the covers that keeps twirling up towards Arthur every time one of them breathes. There’s a sick sort of reminder that comes with it too, a memory of what he did - if it really happened - and the look on Joker’s face as he came without quite being able to bear it.

Arthur has never seen himself as that kind of person before: the kind of person to crawl, wantonly, up the sheets towards their best friend, and suck them into his mouth without even asking. It’s disquieting, almost horrifying, and he tries to shove it aside the way he always shoves aside worrying feelings, but it won’t stop lifting its head again and again.

So, nice soft embrace or not, he waits until he’s sure Joker is still asleep and then quietly slips out of bed. He opens his door and pads across the apartment into the bathroom. _That_ still smells of something: mud and soap. A combination that makes it clear _some_ part of last night did happen.

Arthur scrubs his face so hard with water that his eyes sting. He gets some of his hair wet by accident and drags the toothbrush against his teeth with something like ferocity.

What’s he going to do? What _can_ he do? Arthur’s not sure; he just has a very morbid feeling inside of him that will not let go.

He manages to stuff it down deep enough that it doesn’t quite show on his face as he makes Joker and his mother breakfast. Today’s fare is thin tasty pancakes from the last of the powdered mix with a nub of butter and a squirt of syrup. He takes Penny’s in first, nervous and wondering what she might have heard, but she’s just the same as usual as she wakes up and doesn’t even seem to notice a change.

He opens her curtains and brings her the remote from across from her bed. Then he hands her the plate of pancakes with a weak smile. She’s pleased, this morning, and that’s good. That can only be good, Arthur thinks.

He takes one of the pancakes for himself and puts the rest on a plate for Joker. He’s only hungry enough for one and Joker’s so much bigger than him, he must eat loads.

As Arthur pushes open his bedroom door, trepidation makes his heart beat faster. He’s not expecting to see Joker lying back in bed with his eyes open and his arm resting on his forehead, a mix of fond softness and the more familiar anxiety tight on his face. Arthur swallows, then brings him the plate. “I made pancakes,” he says, softly.

Joker reaches out for them like they’re an actual gift and it makes Arthur’s heart do loops in his chest. “Hey, thanks,” the guy says, with genuine affection. He looks vaguely uncomfortable with the idea of eating them in bed, but doesn’t seem to want to move, so Arthur saves him the trouble of having to think about it by sitting down on the desk chair and tucking his hair behind his ears.

“Yeah,” he says, picking up his clothes from yesterday and flapping the t-shirt out in front of himself. It’s awkward and scary and sweet being watched by Joker while he follows something like his usual routine. “I never paid you back for the pizza, so uh.”

He can’t help flushing, even if the admission seems to make Joker look even more conflicted than he already did. It’s almost funny watching his face as he studiously eats pancakes, stabbing at them with the fork and chewing very deliberately. His short hair, Arthur notices, is vaguely fuzzy in the morning light. 

“I didn’t need you to repay me for that. You were, uh, my guest.” Joker lifts one hand to scratch at the back of his head, then notices his hair is askew and makes a quick attempt to tidy it. He’s forgotten that he’s still wearing Arthur’s clothes and the effect of him raising one arm only tightens that poorly-fitting t-shirt in a way that makes Arthur’s pulse jump. “But thanks.”

“No problem,” Arthur says, looking at the clothes he's picked up for himself and thinking, after a moment, _fuck it_. He knows that something definitely _did_ happen last night, even if he won’t fully acknowledge _what_ , and that means they’re close enough now that he can at least switch pyjama pants for a pair of jeans in the same room.

So he stands up and half turns away, enough that it looks like he’s making _some_ attempt - but not all of an attempt - to be modest. He strips off his pyjama pants and toes out of them, before stepping into the jeans. After a quick, nervous glance at Joker, he pulls his t-shirt off over his head and swaps it for the other one, fingers shaking just a little.

He stuffs the others into a ball and sits them down on top of his desk so he can spend one fucking moment not paying attention to Joker.

“You want any?”

 _What?_ Arthur turns, bewildered, and stares at the plate being offered for a solid two seconds before his brain kicks into gear and he shakes his head. “Nah, I already ate. They’re for you.”

That’s yet another admission slipping out and sounding too close to the truth. Arthur shuts his mouth before he can do any more damage and grabs his bag, still in his routine. 

Uh. Wait.

Joker can’t go to school in Arthur’s clothes. They’re a pathetic fit and Arthur’s worn them for enough gym classes that they’ll be recognised in an instant. The last thing he wants is for rumours to start going round that they’ve slept together.

Even if, well, they kind of have.

Trying not to panic, he heads to the utility closet and checks the clothes hanging up in there. Joker's pants are dry at least, if wrinkled to shit, but his work uniform shirt still isn’t clean enough, and anyway Joker would look very weird coming to school in that. So Arthur starts digging around at the back of the closet, looking for something either way bigger or old enough that it won’t be clocked. He chucks the pants at Joker without looking back at him. Let him change with some privacy.

In the end he finds something hilarious: a button-down shirt that he doesn’t even recognise. It’s black and not worn to shit, but it’s stuffed down here in a carrier bag for some reason. Well. It’s big enough to fit a man and that fits Arthur’s priorities right now.

He flaps it out, surprised by the quality, and turns to give it to Joker. The guy is halfway into his pants, balancing on one leg to kick the fabric into a shape that’ll let him get his foot in. 

Arthur forces his gaze away. He heads over to Joker while looking at his bed, like it’s the most fascinating thing in the room, and hands over the shirt. “I figure this’ll fit better,” he forces out.

Joker makes some thankful noise and Arthur tries not to colour even worse. He scarpers away from the close contact as quickly as he can, shouldering his satchel and realising that Joker won’t have any of his stuff for school. That’s okay though, he can lend him some shit to get him through to the end of the week and Joker’s dad will _have_ to let him back in to get his stuff _sometime_ , right?

Maybe Harold is a flash flood. Maybe he does his damage and then doesn’t linger.

Arthur wonders who exactly he’s trying to kid with that image.

They take the bus to school, sitting next to each other like two nervous kids who’ve never taken public transport before. Arthur doesn’t want Joker to waste gas when he doesn’t know when he’ll next be able to buy it and besides, he likes the idea of going out somewhere in Fester, sometime. Just the two of them.

His pretence at normality goes well until they’re almost there, when Joker quietly swears and grinds his knuckles against the bus seat. “My jacket,” he says, by way of explanation, and Arthur’s eyes stray to the arm currently covered by a long black sleeve. The one with his father’s handprint beneath it, curled all the way around the skin.

All Arthur can do is swing his legs nervously, and grip the seat, and sneak one finger across to nudge against Joker’s curled fingers until one or two are tangled together. It makes both of them smile and something in Joker seems to ease. Arthur’s pleased he at least found him something to wear that’ll stop anyone at _school_ seeing, anyway.

And it’s nice - it makes Arthur’s heart do more backflips - having this tiny piece of acknowledged contact. It’s something that, so far, he’s never been allowed to have.

Joker’s face looks beat to shit, but there’s a limit to how much he’ll allow Arthur to fuss over him and covering some of the bruises with Penny’s makeup had been that limit. He’d looked, Arthur had said, _badass_ , anyway, and that had made Joker smile a very violent smile.

Seeing the reactions of the public to Joker’s face now, Arthur can see why. He cannot, though, understand why it makes something eager and– and _hungry,_ uncurl in his abdomen.

They break the contact when they catch the next bus, and when they find seats together again their shoes slot right next to each other on the floor. It’s somewhere even the other kids can’t see - or if they can, won’t think anything of - and they stay like that until the bus pulls into Gotham High.

Arthur floats into his classes like he’s up on his own little cloud. They drift apart quite naturally when they come off the bus, even if Arthur can’t resist looking back. He catches Joker watching him go and it makes him giggle, skipping forward a few steps before he remembers himself.

The day passes in a soft, hazy blur. Every class is a faint drone in the background to the fantasy playing on repeat in Arthur’s head that he cannot help but doodle in the margins. Little deliberately-poor sketches of Joker grinning, to try and mask his identity. The faint imprint of pillows behind him.

The shadow of Sean as he bends over the page.

“Well, well, well,” he mutters in Arthur’s ear. “Who do we have here?”

Arthur goes to grab the piece of paper, but Sean already has it in his fist and he swipes it away before Arthur can touch it. “It’s not that senior from the Narrows, is it? The one who keeps hanging around you.”

Arthur turns in his seat to make another grab at it but Sean pulls it out of his reach, easy. He looks amused that Arthur would even try. “Looks like someone finally told him kiddy fiddling’s a crime,” he says, dancing the paper in front of Arthur’s face. “Pity the kiddy’s so in _lurve_.”

“Give it _back,_ ” Arthur snarls, quiet, and Sean backs away, holding his hands up.

“Woah woah woah, don’t get nasty. We wouldn’t want you to get nasty.” He holds the piece of paper out, like Arthur can take it back, but Arthur knows there’s something waiting for him first. Deep in the mirror of Sean’s dark grey eyes. 

It’s quiet, only for Arthur to hear. “I heard his daddy wants to string him up. Him and his _faggot_ boyfriend.” Sean leans close, his voice dropping even further. “I wouldn’t go looking for him again if I were you.”

Arthur leaves the class with his eyes damp and a roar building in his chest, paired with a desperate sense of panic. He knows that threat. He’s seen Sean carry it out before. Maybe he’s baited Joker to a bathroom or jumped him with five friends where he goes to smoke. Maybe he’s hurt and bleeding and it’s _Arthur’s fault_ and–

He’s not expecting the crack on the back of his head when he reaches the gym locker room, or the laughter of Sean’s friends as everything spins and goes dark.

Arthur comes to aching and bleeding. His head feels like someone’s stabbed it with a shovel and a spot on his jaw has risen into a lump. He peers at his surroundings, bleary with pain, and remembers where he is.

Sean. Sean and his friends. Of course Joker was never the target.

See the thing is, Sean Parker has hated Arthur for a very long time. Long before highschool and before they were teenagers. Sean learned to hate Arthur for a very good reason - the same reason that lost Arthur his first best friend. He was the one that Arthur got too close to, who didn’t care to pose or be drawn for long, and instead of losing interest snapped into an enemy.

“ _Artie._ ” Sean is loving this. He’s finally got proof out in the open that Arthur’s just as fucked up as he knew he was. Proof, even if most of it’s just rumours. “Spent the night at your house, did he? Thought he’d get on at your stop like it was nothing, hm?”

Inwardly, Arthur kicks himself in the groin.

He realises after a few more blinks that Sean is more keyed up than he’s ever seen him before. He’s practically crowing: hands in pockets, striding around the small space of the locker room like a triumphant dictator. His lackeys all grin and mutter. Arthur imagines making them scream.

“Look at me.” Sean grabs hold of Arthur’s jaw, fingers digging deep into his skin. It’s the longest touch they’ve exchanged in a while.

Arthur does, even though he squints against the fluorescent light. It’s no use talking. He figured that one out a long time ago.

“That’s better,” Sean says, even though his hand only shifts to pinch Arthur’s cheek between thumb and forefinger. “That’s a good little fag.” 

One of his lackeys echoes the word in a shout and Sean grins sideways, tugging the skin of Arthur’s cheek so rough it hurts.

He can’t help but hiss at that, and he sees Sean’s eyes change in a way that means that a noise was what he was waiting for. The grip on his face vanishes and Sean replaces it with his knuckles, cracking Arthur’s head back against the tiled wall in a hit so hard it makes his gang alternate between approving whoops and shocked winces.

Sean braces his hands on his knees and laughs. Arthur can see him even in the middle of the explosion across his cheekbone and the back of his head. He’s both terrifying and - somehow - arousing, and doesn’t that just figure.

Feeling blood drip down from his nasal cavity, Arthur tilts his head to one side and spits a mouthful of blood onto the grim grey floor. “Sean,” he says, lifting his gaze back to the guy. He can see the way Sean latches onto the wooziness in his voice, like it excites him, and that’s, in the end, what makes Arthur smile.

“He’s gonna _kill you,_ ” Arthur says, and grins through bloodied teeth.

Sean’s expression goes from triumphant to black, cutting off the arrogance. He stands up straight, takes one or two staggered steps like he’s trying to control his impulses, then snaps his fingers at the door. “Everybody out,” he says. Then it becomes an order: “Out!”

Arthur just grins lazily at the guys piling out the door. Most of them look pissed to be missing it; some look faintly sick.

When the last one goes, Arthur looks up at Sean and lets his tongue swipe across his lips to catch some of the blood. “And we’re finally al–”

Another fist. This one to the other side of his face, but Sean’s not left-handed and it doesn’t land nearly as hard. It just makes Arthur laugh, listing to one side on his ass, hands lying in his lap. He’s still cultivating that vague sense of arousal.

Sean grabs him by the hair and steps into his space. “You disgusting little faggot,” he spits, and Arthur takes the challenge by the neck, getting one knee beneath himself and arching up further into Sean’s grip, watching his captor with hooded eyes as his face comes ever so close to Sean’s crotch.

 _Wouldn’t you like to know?_ says Arthur’s expression, and Sean’s face makes a complicated leap from rage straight to - curiously - hurt.

He curls his fingers tighter into Arthur’s hair and Arthur’s mouth curves up at the corner as he leans in and slowly brushes his lips over the crotch of Sean’s pants.

He’s expecting more pain, so being dropped back to the ground and then kicked square in the solar plexus is not surprising. Arthur’s just surprised Sean didn’t do it earlier. He has a particular fondness for using his feet, especially in Arthur’s ribs. This time, though, Arthur’s prepared enough to prevent his head from rebounding off the tile again, and he curls his knees up as he tries to draw a breath that isn’t laughter.

Sean leaves without another word. It’s really, really fucking funny.

Arthur sits in the locker room until he can think clearly, which takes him a while. It’s at that point that he realises how late in the day it is, and a bubble of nerves and fear and hope bursts up through his chest as he remembers that Joker might, now, live with him.

And he’ll be waiting and wondering where Arthur is. Maybe thinking Arthur just up and left already, without waiting for him.

He gets to his feet, painfully, thinking that at least now their faces sort of match. He’s two steps from the door when it bursts open, Joker practically falling through it, and Arthur has exactly one second of surprise before Joker has his hands around his face, feeling for hurt, maybe feeling just to feel, and when Arthur voices an “ow” at the swipe of a thumb over his cheekbone Joker just leans in and kisses him.

It’s a total shock, Joker’s lips against his. The kiss is nothing like the warm, soft, sensual kiss of last night. It’s something rough and needy, even desperate. Arthur feels himself melting, his feet stumbling back until Joker has him pressed against the tiled wall. He’s making the most awful noises into Joker’s mouth but Joker’s making more of them right back.

He doesn’t want to think about how quickly this makes him hard, especially slotted against Joker’s body like this. Arthur really could never hide anything when it came to this guy and isn’t that just even more true when it comes to lust.

He remembers running into this room the first day they really talked, back when Joker broke them into the gym next door and Arthur jacked off in here so fast that he went momentarily blind. 

He remembers that moment with a vividness that startles him. When he sinks his fists in the collar of Joker’s shirt and pulls him _down,_ it’s the gasping arousal that’s talking - the unbelievable, roaring need for this that’s in control. Still flying on the tailwind of turning on his mortal enemy, Arthur has to swallow deeply as Joker sinks, awkward and looking up at him for confirmation, to his knees.

“Yeah,” he says, one hand running down over Joker’s shoulder. “Like that.”

The words seem to do something wild to Joker. He reaches for Arthur’s belt and digs his fingers in trying to take it off, then whips it out of the belt loops and throws it aside. Arthur finds himself holding onto Joker’s shoulders as his jeans get shoved down and then Joker leans in, eyes still half-uncertain, until Arthur’s breath hitches and he arches his hips towards Joker.

Joker makes a soft, helpless noise as he gets his mouth on Arthur through his underwear. His lips are trembling, parting and closing, and for one wild moment Arthur even feels his tongue: a hot wet finger drawing along his length. " _Fuck,_ " he breathes.

Joker’s fingers come up, going for the waistband, and Arthur tilts his head back and runs his fingers through Joker’s hair. It’s still not long - not wild, curly and manic like it was - but there’s still enough there for him to sink his fingers into and caress. 

_His Joker,_ comes a thought, and Arthur shoots it down while embracing it.

Arthur’s expecting Joker to just pull his underwear down, but he doesn’t. He brushes his fingers along Arthur’s dick, pinned sideways against his crotch, and gets just enough underwear out the way to let the head out. Arthur can’t help glancing down and almost losing his mind at the picture of Joker considering it, then sneaking his tongue out, then leaning in to press his lips to it.

Joker’s mouth quickly becomes Joker’s tongue, and then a harsh moan rips out of him and he sinks his mouth down onto it. It’s only the discomfort of still being semi-trapped in his underwear that prevents Arthur from coming right then and there.

“Joker,” he says, high and breathy. 

Joker glances up, looking suddenly scandalised, and Arthur curls his fingers up the back of his head to reassure him. “Please,” he says, then swallows again, trying to force the words out. “I’m gonna– if you don’t–”

 _If you pull off again, I’m gonna cum all over your face,_ is what Arthur absolutely wants to say, but can’t. He must say most of it with his face, though, because Joker licks his lips again and leans back in, curling his hand into Arthur’s underwear to pull the rest of him out.

It doesn’t take much to slam that image into the back of his eyes as Joker takes his cock all the way into his mouth.

Arthur actually _whines,_ squeezing hard on Joker’s shoulder and tousling his fingers in his hair. He’s breathing hard and trying so very much to hold off, but he can’t do much. Especially not when Joker starts to suck him to some kind of rhythm, like he’s fucking him with his mouth over and over again.

“Joker–” Arthur doesn’t get anything else out before he’s coming, fast and whip-sharp. The sensation of shooting cum into Joker’s mouth is unlike anything he’s ever felt before and it makes him buck hard, stealing a low groan out of Joker.

All at once, his legs go unsteady and he’s not sure he can still stand, so he sags back against the wall. Joker pulls off his dick with a soft wet noise that Arthur knows will stick in his head. When Arthur sees Joker’s throat work and his mouth open all clean, he has to close his eyes for a moment. “Christ.”

He feels naked now. Very bare and naked in this cold, quiet locker room where anyone could walk in. So he stuffs himself back in his pants and buttons his fly, looking at the belt and deciding to leave it for now in favour of sneaking a hand into Joker’s armpit and hauling him up.

Arthur doesn’t even say anything as he half-drags Joker with him to the cubicles, just throws him into onoe and comes in after him. It’s thrilling to pin _Joker_ up against a wall, even if it’s just a thin metal panel.

It’s amazing just how _wrecked_ Joker has gotten from doing that. Arthur has barely touched him and yet he’s already putty, with half-attempts at words falling from his mouth and his eyes barely able to look at Arthur. Like he’s ashamed, or maybe just overwhelmed.

Arthur remembers what Joker’s dick looks like in a rush of memory. It’s all he can do to keep his brain going, switching onto movement alone: untuck Joker’s shirt, tear open his trousers, drag his shirt up the flat of his stomach to his chest so he doesn’t get cum all over it. Hold it there in your teeth.

Joker’s eyes flutter open when Arthur gets a saliva-wet hand on his dick and shudders when he sees him, hips bucking helplessly into his hand. He’s so much taller and built so much bigger, but he’s an absolute mess against Arthur and it does something pleasing to that thing inside Arthur: that endlessly hungry dog.

He cums like he knows what Arthur did in this very cubicle all those months ago. Arthur leans up and tells him as much as Joker’s hips stutter and he starts to mouth: “ _Arthur, Arthur, Arthur._ "

His cum is hot and wet. He smells like that same wild animal that suffuses his entire room and stuck to Arthur’s clothes for a week. Like sweat and smoke and need.

Arthur lets the shirt drop from his mouth when Joker stops draining into his hand, circling the tip of his cock to make sure he gets everything. Inspired by what he saw earlier, he lifts his hand to his mouth and sucks the cum off, pleased by the wriggling shudder the sight produces in Joker. 

He almost sounds like himself when he reaches for Arthur’s face again, thumbs brushing down his cheeks. 

“Ah, kid.” Joker takes a few shaking breaths, trying to laugh. “What the fuck are we doin’ to ourselves?”


End file.
